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POW! Now in serif-free Verdana, for added swish!

Previously, I had tried to deter people from this part of the page, because I am shy (ahem). But, it seems that you lot are a morbidly curious bunch, you just pootle straight into the biography with the scantest of regards for a man's privacy. Perhaps in the hope that there'll be some photos that make me look less like a serial killer than the first mugshot. Well, I'm getting the photos done at the moment, I'm currently splicing Jeff Stryker's penis, which is not something we can all say with complete honesty. Keep tuned for the Vanity Fayre, the "photos of me me me" section.
So, I give in. You're welcome to me. But first, wouldn't you like to click on the flame?
You like the flame, don't you? It mystifies, it confounds. See what it does! See where it takes you!

Me
I am Log. That's a real false name, not one of those virtual IRC "nicks". (Is a virtual false name a real name?) I tend to avoid chatting since I found out that people actually play drinking games on the net. I like to get something more out of alcohol than spelling mistakes. Imagine if you will....

TheMaster : You uused a preposiition at teh end of a sentence. You have to drink to sips.
SeXpuSSy : Bahh, you got me, THemaster.
XTC4EVER : Anyone wanna chat?

So, my friends call me Log. Unless they're gay. Other gay men somehow have an insurmountable aversion to calling anyone "Log". Perhaps the very nature of the word - both phallic and faecal - sends them into a unstoppable giddying sex frenzy.... of death. Still, it has been my name for ne'ery 15 years, and it is the name I will use to become impossibly famous.

I was brought up on the lower side of middle class, and I am glad of it. Not high enough to believe in my own importance, not low enough to think that holograms of biblical scenes are the height of style. Sadly, pampered enough to be riddled with guilt, and therefore prone to having more than one copy of any given Big Issue. I was given very little to rebel against, so I've come through fairly standard. (If a little better than most).

Schooling? I went to Manchester University. I did a law degree. Followed the usual three year pattern....

> 1992 : Became screamingly high on the toxic fumes of freedom. With mother reduced to a weekly phone call, I tasted liberty! But with freedom comes responsibility.... and in acknowledgment of this fundamental truth, I pushed my friends around in a shopping trolley.

> 1993 : Moved into a rented house with an unpronouncable landlord, who told me that he payed more in tax than I would probably ever earn with my high-follutin' education. Upon starting the second year, I naturally started hating freshers. Abhorrent, jumped up pricks, pushing each other around in shopping trolleys.

> 1994 : Final year, intake of Post-It notes rockets, and social drinking is replaced by the urgent consumption of a man who has far more important things to do. This year also saw my hair dreadlocked for brief periods, in what I can only describe as a phase.

And after that...

> 1995 : Changed my mind about the real world and took a postgraduate degree. Also changed my mind about law, just after taking a loan of £5000 for the privilege of taking the Legal Practice Course. A course in which you learn how exactly to fill out a form, and also how to spell the word "privilege".

1996 was spent working in bars in Manchester and performing "Data Input" . I am, by nature, a bartender. I do the job well, I only steal as much as I deserve, and I raise the tone of any establishment with my Arian good looks, ahem. If you are acquainted with Via Fossa, of Manchester's "fashionable" Canal Street, then I will probably have had to give you a free drink in order to get the manager a shag.

Me

I use the word fashionable with traces of sadness. When I came to Manchester, it was the "gay village". Now, by the arrival of the tolerable "Prague V", the irrelevant "Velvet", and the hideous "Mash" and "Air", it has been reduced to "the fashionable Canal Street". This isn't necessarily a bad thing - ideally, the idea of gay bars should be obsolete. Until that day, though, it's a wee bit off-colour to come in and snog your bird in front of a gaggle of queers, in the knowledge that if we tried that outside the village, we're on a 50/50 whether we'd get bottled for our troubles. (Even holding hands walking down the street is still a logistical nightmare!)

#### Just to break the tedium, here's a picture of Eddie Izzard

Well, that's about it for me. I used to say here that I found campness a confusing link between homosexuality and feminity, but I've been reliably informed that gender is a spectrum and not the bipolar opposites of "male" and "female", and that my words were an unhelpfully black and white commentary on an incredibly complex subject.

All I am allowed to say is that I have fewer characteristics traditionally (but not correctly) assigned to the arbitrary definition of female than other gay men. Also, that which I find sexually attractive are the characteristics most commonly attributed to "male".

Is that OK with y'all?

For reading so far, here is a swear word in the "WingDings" font
coxuqa
Six letter swear words. So rare, I have to make them up myself.

Me
In 1998 I am throwing myself back into the public domain, and moving back into the career of bartending. I owe it to you, my public. I've given computer programming six months, and it's just not happening. So, if you're in Nottingham with a spare hour and a couple of quid, pop into the "Bunkers Hill Inn", where I will be smoking a More Menthol in a cigarette holder and sporting chandelear-rings unseen since the glory days of Coronation Street. Of course, I won't. Or will I? No. No, I won't. Let's not start that again.

Here is my song that I sing if a round costs £6.65. It goes to the tune of "Brown Girl In The Ring"

"Six Pounds Sixty Five, thank you very much,
That's just six pounds sixty five, thank you very mu-uch,
Six pounds sixty five, thank you very much,
I'll bring back the appropriate change. Change change!"

Also, I like to think of myself as a writer. I have written quite a lot of material, ranging from the severely stunted to the occasionally inspired (which I think is fairly reflected in this site). If, one day, I am ever allowed the chance to write for radio or television, then I will be utterly bovine with pleasure. Probably won't happen, though, at least not with that attitude. All submissions so far have been met with an acknowledgment of receipt and subsequent silence. I do know this, though - Channel 4 do a much more amiable letter of receipt than the BBC. As soon as I get my refusals, they will be here.

So - that's about me. Me, me, me. You know, there's a lot of other stuff around here that isn't about me. Wouldn't you rather read that? If you want to tell me that I am a reprehensible sexuality traitor (although how you can betray a spectrum is beyond me, unless you bought a Commodore 64) you're wrong - but do so via my feedback form or email. I am a very nice person.

Then again, there's the first page. You can forget you were ever here.